On the Fringe

by Courtney King Walker

  When the back of my own head came into view in front of my present vision, I felt dizzy, like I was going to pass out. At first, I didn’t realize the head was mine, until the viewpoint took a new position to get a better look at my face. I watched myself rushing into the fight and throwing punches, and then pulling Matthew toward me, asking him if he was okay. Matthew’s head was bloody, his eye swollen, and he seemed to be going in and out of consciousness.

  “Watch out!” someone yelled.

  Everyone in the room screamed at once, but it was too late. I saw myself turn around to face the barrel of a gun held by someone wearing an oversized black hoodie. I tried to stop what I was seeing, knowing what was about to happen. I even screamed at myself, at the room full of drunken kids, and threw myself into the outstretched arm of the kid holding the gun. But it was impossible to change the memory—Aden’s memory.

  He’d been there the whole time. Aden watched me die.

  The blast exploded through the air and I saw my head jerk backward. Everyone screamed. My body fell forward into Matthew’s lap as Aden’s viewpoint turned toward the guy holding the gun. The killer glanced my way and then shoved the gun into his pants before turning and running out the back door.

  Light and color exploded through my mind when Aden pulled me out of his memory. My head felt heavy as I watched him drift backward, smiling. “How’s that for a killer ending?” He said, drifting over the black ocean, leaving me alone on the pier. This time I let him go without a chase.

  My fight was gone.

  It felt like my whole body was shaking, even though I knew it wasn’t. Panic seemed to choke me from the unwanted glimpse at my murderer, and I fell over, trying to rid my mind of the killer’s face.

  My killer. Felix.

  I knelt on the dark pier, battered with confusion, my mind a pulverized mess. The waves sprayed all around me as people unknowingly walked through me. I couldn’t stop thinking about Felix. And Aden. And how he was probably haunting Felix’s mind right now, telling him what to do next. Aden’s puppet had killed me without even flinching, point blank. What would he do to Claire? How was I supposed to warn her if I couldn’t even connect to her without letting Aden back in?

  Maybe it would be better to just fade away from her life and hope everything, including Felix, went away, too. It wouldn’t be that hard to find some remote part of the world, some interesting place like the Amazon, and hang out there with the natives, right? Right?

  No. I couldn’t do that. Not to Claire.

  I shifted from the strange pier back to Hidden Lake, trying to push away my fears, but it was impossible. And as embarrassing as it was to admit—right then I was scared-of-monsters-frightened; I didn’t know what to do. There was no one to talk to. I was completely alone in this. Powerless.

  Drifting up the hill, I stopped in front of Claire’s house, wondering what to do next. That was when I noticed a familiar black Jeep parked in the driveway, one that hadn’t been there in months.

  Matthew.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MATTHEW’S SECRET

  Claire

  The image in the mirror stared back at me. With my hair pulled into a ponytail and a doublewide headband across my forehead, I scrubbed my face clean. After being accosted at the park, talking with the police, and being surprised—no, shocked—at Matthew’s return, the day needed to end.

  Immediately.

  Daniel was apparently a no-show, too. Not a great way to usher in a good night’s sleep, but I decided to end my hellish day anyway.

  I never realized how much I missed Matthew until he came home. It felt good talking about nothing in particular or important, just hanging out like old times before Daniel’s death. It also felt weird having him worry about me so much—this from someone who used to hide behind doors just to scare me. I had to admit I liked this Matthew, even if everything felt different.

  After splashing cool water on my skin and burying my face in a warm towel, something brushed against the back of my arm. I dropped the towel, ready to scream until I saw Daniel and then fell into his arms.

  “Daniel,” I whispered. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

  He hugged me tightly before pulling back. “We almost missed it.”

  “You almost missed it,” I corrected him playfully. But when his eyes drooped and his lips turned down, my excitement fizzled. “What’s wrong?” I held his hands loosely. For some reason, he looked like he didn’t want to talk. At all. “Were you with us at the park today?”

  He nodded.

  “So, you saw everything, then? The runner, the note–”

  “Yes,” he interrupted. “I followed him to his apartment, to some dive in the Tenderloin.”

  The Tenderloin. I’d been there once, to a little southern diner called Dottie’s, but there was a reason it closed at three in the afternoon.

  “Do you know why he’s been following me?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  He took a deep breath and held my arms while looking me straight in the eye. “Because of Aden—your ghost-stalker,” he said.

  “I figured they were connected.”

  Daniel looked like he wanted to say more, but hesitated.

  “The newspaper!” I remembered. “I found an old article about your accident.”

  “You did?” he asked, his eyes brightening.

  “Yes, and it’s not what you think. I’ll show you–” I started to move around him for the door, but he stopped me.

  “We don’t have time. I was late.”

  “Oh, okay,” I whispered, leaning up on my tiptoes and kissing him on the lips, trying to linger up there by his face. He seemed to respond, but not like before. Something was definitely wrong. “Daniel. You didn’t kill him. You know that, right?”

  He was quiet.

  I went on. “The article said he was speeding without a helmet when he crashed. And he was drunk. It wasn’t your fault, no matter what Aden says.”

  Daniel’s face looked conflicted, the brown inside his pupils trying to focus, but seemingly lost somewhere else. I reached up for a few loose strands of hair hanging over his eyebrows and gently pushed them back, then leaned into his neck, touching my lips to his skin. “Daniel,” I whispered, squeezing his hands, trying to get him to respond. “Aden started this mess. Not you. Stop blaming yourself.”

  He finally seemed to wake up from his slump, responding to my words by interlacing his fingers through mine until it almost hurt. Then he pulled his head away from me. It seemed like he’d been able to refocus, but his eyes still looked dismal.

  “His name is Felix Marz,” he said quickly, like a reporter. “The Peeping Tom. Aden found him…I don’t know how…but you have to tell your parents, come up with some kind of story. You need to give his name to the police before anything else happens–”

  “What? What’s going to happen?”

  Daniel looked away. “We don’t have enough time to go into it,” he said, like he was trying to brush me off.

  “What does Felix want?” I demanded, this time a little louder. I could feel my hands shaking against his chest, remembering the note.

  Daniel wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him. I inhaled deeply, wishing I could bottle up his scent.

  “Felix just does what he’s told. Aden’s the one calling all the shots.”

  “What does Aden want, then?”

  “At first it was just some stupid revenge against me. You know, because of how he died…because of the accident. But, now he just seems crazy. I don’t know what his ultimate goal is, really, but haunting you and tormenting me seems to be what makes his world go round. I just don’t know how to get him to stop—”

  “You don’t?”

  “Well, except for never being with you again.”

  “But that’s what he wants, isn’t it?” I asked. “He gets his revenge by keeping you from me. He wins that way.”

  “He wins either way, Claire. I don’t think we have a choic
e. If we keep connecting, he’ll keep haunting you, each time worse than the last. We have to stop now before…well, before you get hurt. And now with Felix on board, everything is more complicated. I don’t know what to do, Claire…”

  I couldn’t respond. An uncontrollable trembling ricocheted through my body until Daniel lightly caressed the back of my neck, replacing the trembling with shivering. An unwanted tear slid down my cheek, nearly finding its way to my chin. Daniel caught it for me with his finger as I closed my eyes and leaned against him, feeling utterly lost.

  “Claire.”

  I didn’t want to hear anymore.

  “I think… You need to tell Matthew, now that he’s back,” he said, his voice a little louder.

  I looked up in shock. “Tell him what?”

  “About me.”

  “Right.” I said sarcastically, before realizing he was serious.

  “You have to tell someone—someone who’s alive—someone who can fight Felix, since I can’t. Someone who will believe you, who can protect you. That’s Matthew,” he insisted, both of his hands now on my shoulders, his forehead pressed against mine.

  “But you saved me, remember? The fog…the lake? You can protect me, Daniel.”

  “I don’t think it works like that, Claire. I can’t stop someone from hurting you. I’ve only been able to connect with you. Not with anyone else.”

  “Then what about the police?” I asked, looking for a saner answer.

  “Hopefully they can do something about Felix...but we need to do something right now. The police might take too long.”

  “But, Matthew won’t believe me,” I sighed, unable to look into his eyes.

  “Yes, he will.”

  “Do you know a different Matthew than I do?”

  “He’ll believe you, Claire.” Daniel seemed positive, convinced.

  “How?” I asked, almost daring him.

  Big mistake.

  He rested his head softly against mine for a second, and kissed me on the side of my cheek. Then he started to tell me what happened the night he was killed, forcing me to listen firsthand to the horrible details.

  “I didn’t die right away, Claire,” Daniel was saying. “After I was shot, everything got quiet. At first I couldn’t see anything—only black. That was when I heard Matt’s voice above me and felt his hands holding up my head, though I don’t know how. He was so thrashed…”

  I didn’t want to listen anymore, but didn’t know how to stop him from telling me the rest. When he finished, I pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  His eyes looked so empty and tired, so unlike himself, without his signature smile and confidence. He was seventeen when he died, but the way he looked at me now made him seem so much older.

  “This might be our last time together–”

  “No,” I gulped, trying not to cry.

  He held still as I squeezed him tight, afraid to let go. Then, his touch and scent dissolved as I watched him slowly drift away from me into the wall. I raced out into the hallway for another glimpse of him, but he had already disappeared.

  I wanted to wait until morning to talk to Matthew, but was afraid of losing all courage by then, especially if Aden came in the meantime. Hopefully, with a house full of people he would spare me tonight. Unlikely. Maybe Matthew could somehow find a way to help me.

  The blaring sound of the TV pulled me into the family room, where Matthew was sitting on the couch, manhandling a mammoth sandwich that looked as if he had thrown in every deli item he could find. He didn’t notice when I walked in, and was in the midst of another gigantic bite, his eyes still glued to the screen.

  “It’s 10:30, Matthew. How can you possibly eat that right now?” I always wondered how guys could eat so much all the time without getting huge. Or sick.

  There was no answer, thanks to his mouth stuffed with sandwich and his eyes fixed on the screen.

  “Hey, Matthew,” I said a little louder, leaning against the armchair.

  He paused his show and gave me a ‘make-it-quick’ look. I lost my nerve.

  “What?” he asked when I didn’t answer.

  “I need to talk to you about something.” I could feel my neck and cheeks getting warm, and hoped he couldn’t tell. He was probably wondering what was wrong with me. How could I do this?

  “Right now?” he asked, taking another bite.

  “Yes. Are Mom and Dad here?” I asked, looking around.

  “Went to bed,” he said through turkey and sprouts. I didn’t realize I’d have to compete with a sandwich. Still, I moved from the armchair to the end of the couch, trying to get comfortable.

  “Whassuup?” he asked, finally taking his last bite.

  “I know his name,” I blurted out.

  “Who?”

  “The Peeping Tom. I know who he is.”

  “What?” He coughed, obviously surprised.

  “But before I say how, I need to ask you what I should do about it,” I said, trying to be clever. With Matthew, though, that never seemed to pan out. Still, I tried.

  “Claire, you’re not making any sense.” His voice was beginning to sound just like Dad’s.

  “Just bear with me for a minute, okay?” I pleaded.

  “Claire–”

  “Please?”

  He closed his eyes, like he was trying to force himself into a new persona. When he opened them again, it seemed a veil of patience had descended, if only briefly.

  “Okay,” I started. “If you knew the name, but wanted to protect your source, how would you go about giving it to the police?”

  “I don’t know. You could lie, I guess. But I don’t really recommend lying to the police.”

  “Okay, so I could make up a story. That’s a thought.”

  “Claire,” he interrupted, already finished with hypothetical. “What are you talking about?”

  His eyes seemed to impale me, and I felt my heart accelerating. How was I going to do this? A gulp stuck in my throat. When Matthew reached for his Coke, I finally dove in. “Do you promise to hear me out without interrupting—without listening to the logical, literal, factual side of your brain?”

  “You mean, without thinking?” he asked, finishing off the can.

  “Funny. No, I just want you to use your imagination a little bit.”

  “Oh…kay…”

  “I mean, really, Matthew. Like, try to dig deep, way back inside to when you were a kid, back to when you believed in monsters and buried treasure and, and…ghosts.”

  “Cla–”

  “Please.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  I could tell he was already starting to jump to conclusions, which wasn’t helping. I unclenched my hands while trying to untangle the nerves all bundled up inside me. He watched me closely, as if I were presenting evidence to a jury.

  “I don’t know where to start. It has to do with Daniel.”

  Whew. There. I said it.

  “Daniel? What?”

  Obviously just saying his name wasn’t going to do the trick, but at least I was up and running. I turned my face toward the TV, my gaze getting lost in some actor’s magnified face.

  “You know how I fell in the lake on my birthday?” I asked, not waiting for an answer. “I never told you or anyone what really happened. I kept it a secret.”

  “What’s up with the secrets, Claire?”

  “Just listen.”

  “Okay,” he whispered condescendingly. “Tell me your secret.”

  I wished Daniel were here to give me a little encouragement. It didn’t seem fair I was the one to have to do this, especially since it was turning out to be so much more difficult than anticipated. I had forgotten how conversations with Matthew always took twice as long, because his brain refused to work without proof. And I thought my imagination was bad.

  “I didn’t almost drown, Matthew,” I confessed. “I did drown.”

  “You drowned,” he repeated.
>
  “Yes. I died for a little bit.”

  “Claire, that’s not possible.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know that’s not possible. Not without brain damage or death—permanent death.”

  “You’re wrong,” I refuted, looking right at him, refusing to give in. I knew I was right, and because of that, wasn’t apologetic anymore. Well, at least not yet.

  “Why do you think you died?” he cross-examined me. “I mean, what did you see that convinced you that you were dead?”

  “It wasn’t just what I saw. That was only a small part of the whole thing. It was more about what I felt, what I knew. I wasn’t in the lake anymore. Instead, it was like my whole spirit, or mind was alive in everything, like I’d become part of the sky and the stars. I felt so peaceful and free, and didn’t want to come back.”

  Matthew watched me, his eyes like glass as they stared into mine. I could tell my words had floated into his ears, inched up into his mind and were mulling around, trying to find their way down to his heart.

  So I went right on.

  “But someone called me. I could hear him whispering my name, pulling at me to return and wake up. When I recognized the voice, I decided to come back.”

  “Who was it?” he asked, leaning forward.

  I glanced down at my hands, scared to go on. “It was Daniel,” I said, looking up at Matthew boldly. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe—didn’t do anything for an excruciatingly long time as I anxiously waited for a reaction…

  “Daniel,” he finally repeated.

  I nodded my head yes.

  “Well, that must’ve been a nice dream, then,” he reasoned dryly, the previous look of interest gone, a shadow of steel falling across his face.

  “It wasn’t a dream, Matthew.”

  “Not a dream. You heard Daniel whisper in your ear, but it wasn’t a dream? I’m not following.”

  “I didn’t just hear him. I saw him. He was there–”